A Better Alternative
by Servatis
Summary: Jones and Brown, as they once had, now followed behind him. The irony was simply delicious. --- Rewrite of "Miseria Cantare" --- OneShot.


**"A Better Alternative"**

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Thinking they could escape him, they had spent the last months of their lives, if you could call it that, running in fear from him. But no, they wouldn't evade him any longer... They were his for the taking, the very Matrix itself rightfully belonged to him. After all, they were all sickening leeches, human and program alike, sucking both worlds dry of all resources, of all life itself! They had no right to do so, they couldn't even control themselves. How could they even think they could govern the Matrix or the Real World if they hadn't a single sliver of self-control? But, he did. Knowing this, he realized it was he who could remake the world. Perhaps, even both if he were to overtake the Matrix. It would only take time to gather his strength and he could create his own world. One free of _them_.

Now he had his prey backed up against a wall, their eyes pleading for mercy. Curiously enough, they had chosen to run, to live as Exiles. It had been in their very programming to report for deletion after such a failure. But, somehow, they had overcome that almost and it mildly impressed him. A small smile of pride attempted to reach his lips, but was cast down by a laugh at the situation. Johnson, Jackson, and Thompson, the Agents that would have likely been hunting Jones and Brown, were no longer themselves. He had taken them for his own and now... Now they stood beside him as he glowered at his soon-to-be brethren. As amusing as this was, there was work to be done. Brown clung to Jones' side appearing to seek protection as Smith's laugh echoed throughout the room. This only brought Smith's laugh to a cruel crescendo. Did they really think that there was a chance they could defend against him? Perhaps they had the impression they could escape his grasp once more? Oh, this was almost too much.

"Smith... No..." said Jones, placing himself between Smith and Brown.

"Why, Smith? Why are you doing this!"

Smith's expression turned grim as Brown's panicked questioning appeared to have struck a nerve. Though, perhaps, not the nerve they might have hoped to pluck. It had only awakened an anger inside of him. Ignorance was not a trait befitting of any program, especially not a former Agent. How could Brown have fallen so far? It was then, with a wry smile, he realized that Brown must have always been doomed. He must have always been flawed, because Jones was at least showing a bit of dignity. How pathetic.

"Why? Why you ask? It's simple; I _must_. To rid the world of you and all else who infect it. You are disgusting, fragile creations and _must_ be destroyed. You should feel honored, I am at least offering you a better alternative to deletion, am I not? Once again, you will stand by my side..."

With a violent thrust, Smith's hand was burrowed deep within Jones' chest. With a hint of horror, Jones looked down as a disturbing black ooze began to seep from the wound. But, he did nothing else to stop it. He couldn't. The icy feeling that overtook him was too shocking, too paralyzing for him to do much else except watch. Brown, however, tried in vain to pry Smith's arm out of him. It was the only option he had left to at least try and delay what was to happen. Too weak, he soon watched as Jones was finally overwhelmed. The ooze vanished and there stood simply another clone, nothing about him even suggested Jones had ever existed. The new Smith straightened his tie and took his place with the others. Now desperate, Brown lunged himself at Smith, pummeling any inch of him that he could reach with his fists.

"You seem to think that you can stop me," Smith smirked as he lifted Brown off of him by the neck, "I'm afraid you're sorely mistaken."

"D-don't... it can't end like this..."

The hold he had on Brown tightened and his fingers sunk into his neck. The now familiar black ooze started to crawl over him, seeking to devour his entire being. Brown flailed, scratched Smith's arms, anything he could do to get away. It was all useless, of course, and soon the ooze threatened to overtake his eyes.

"Goodbye, Brown."

"You bastard." he seethed.

Those were the last words he would ever utter before the change was completed. Now, there were only a few more matters he needed to attend to. Simple enough of course. The Oracle couldn't hide for too much longer and once he had her, Mr. Anderson would soon fall as well. Smith brushed off his suit before leaving the room, the others in tow. A small chuckle reverberated against the decrepit walls around him. Jones and Brown, as they once had, now followed behind him. It was almost as though nothing had changed since his days as an Agent. The irony was simply delicious.

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**Author's Note: **This is a rewrite of my old story, "Miseria Cantare", which was written sometime in 2004. The old rewrite is still up on my profile if on the off-chance someone is interested in it. I wrote this rewrite at about 5am, so I will likely return to it and try and fix it up. Thanks for reading!


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